Love is Like the Flowers
by tbazzsnow
Summary: Written for the Carry On Countdown prompt Flower shop AU. Simon works in a flower shop. Baz is a new customer. Misunderstanding, pining, the usual for these two. Set in a non magical AU.
1. Chapter 1

Carry On Countdown

Nov. 25 Flower Shop AU

 **Simon**

He's here again.

It's the third Friday in a row he's shown up. Same bloody time.

Cheesed me off, it did, that first time.

Posh tosser just walks in here, minutes before I'm to close up shop. Strolls around like he owns the place. Wanders about, inspecting the day's inventory like he has all the time in the world.

I'd wanted to get home, that first time. Not that there was anything to do at home, but at least I'd be home. Agatha and I had broken up a few weeks before.

A few weeks before this bloke decided to become a regular.

I didn't come as too much of a surprise. The break up, I mean, with Agatha. Things hadn't been good between us for some time. I just didn't think she'd actually do it.

I'm honestly not as upset as I thought I'd be. I miss going out to eat with someone I suppose and having someone to watch the telly with at night but Agatha and I haven't been more than companions for quite a while.

I'm not sure when the spark faded away. I think there was a spark, once. Dating Agatha wasn't really what I'd anticipated it to be. It had been comfortable and comforting in school but I'd had this whole romantic scenario in my head about what it would be like after we graduated.

It didn't turn out that way. We just had less and less to talk about and even less in common. Just kind of drifted apart, even though we were still together.

It's all right, really. We're still friends, sort of. I'd call her in a fix and I think she'd do the same.

But I was feeling sorry for myself, a few weeks ago, the night this bloke had marched into the shop—all slicked back hair, posh togs and elegant cheekbones.

He is striking to look at, I'll give him that. Not much of a talker though. Doesn't say much at all. Walks around for a bit then heads to the counter to tell me what sort of bouquet he wants in his cool, cultured voice.

I just gather the flowers, wrap them up and take his money.

I can't help watching him though, as he strolls through the shop. My eyes just seem to follow him.

He's at the counter now. The wind must've picked up outside. His hair's falling into his face tonight, soft waves cascading past those sharp cheekbones of his.

It looks good like that. Makes him look softer, it does.

My face grows warm and I realize I'm staring.

What the bloody hell? Why am I thinking about his hair and stupid facial structure?

I get the flowers all organized and ring him up. I must just be knackered and not thinking clearly. Didn't get much sleep last night. Mind's wandering.

I can't think why else I'd try to start a conversation with him.

"Your girlfriend must like getting these flowers every Friday," I say.

His eyes widen.

They're grey. Dark grey, like the sea at dusk.

"I don't have a girlfriend." His voice is clipped and curt. Still posh as hell.

Fuck.

I flush all the way down my neck and I can hear Penny's voice in my head. _"Succumbing to the heteronormative stereotypes, Simon? Really?"_

"Oh. Uh. Um. I'm sorry, don't know what I was thinking." I drop my eyes to the flowers and busy my hands with the wrap. And like a complete wanker I keep talking.

"Boyfriend, then?"

I'm mad. I'm an utter pillock. There's really no other rational explanation for why I am still talking and saying such stupid things to him.

He raises his eyebrow and fixes me with a penetrating stare. "No, don't have one of those either."

Fuck.

But I keep on talking because I have utterly lost all control of myself. I'm sure he just wants to go home. I just want to go home. I don't know why I'm prolonging the agony of this interaction.

But there it is, my mouth running off again. "That's nice, then. Bringing a little bit of colour into the house for yourself."

"They're for my mother."

I beam up at him now, finally on a safe subject. "Oh, that's all right then. Nice of you to do that for your mum. Brightens her day, I'm sure."

His face is expressionless. "She's dead. I take them to her grave each week." He drops a twenty-pound note on the counter, sweeps up the flowers and walks out into the night before I even get a chance to give him his change.

 _Fuck._

 **Baz**

I beat a hasty retreat out of the flower shop with only one thought in my head. _Why am I like this?_

Finally, after weeks of just staring at each other, he makes an attempt at conversation and I just sneer him into silence. As if I haven't been going out of my way, coming to this specific shop every Friday for the past month, just to see this particular boy.

And then I fuck it all up by being a complete arse.

I'm seething at myself all the way to the station, the entire ride to the cemetery.

I pick my way to the stone that marks Mother's grave and remove the wilting flowers from last week. The new ones take their place and I drop down on the grass next to them. I trace the outline of her name with my finger.

It calms me.

I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, as I watch the sun set over the city.

It's hours later when I finally get home.

I curl up on the sofa, book in hand, but I can't concentrate. I've made such a mess of this tonight.

I first saw this boy months ago, at my step-cousin's wedding. I didn't want to be there. I'm tired of going to other people's weddings. I don't even know her that well, some relation of Daphne's that we rarely see, but since the wedding was in London I had no excuse not to go.

Dev was absorbed with his date. Some new girl he met at work and he's utterly besotted with her. He was useless as a diversion. I didn't know too many of the others and had little interest in speaking to the ones I did know.

It was an adult only affair so Father and Daphne didn't bring Mordelia, even though my little sister is actually blood relations with this side of the family. It would have been far more interesting to spend time with her.

As it was we got there too bloody early and I was bored. I escaped the throng of well-wishers and went out behind the church to have a smoke. That's when I saw him.

The florist's truck was parked in back. There was a girl with purple hair gesturing wildly in the direction of the church and directing this boy to carry some giant flower arrangement in. I checked my watch. They were cutting it pretty damn close if they were still bringing in the decorations. The wedding was due to start in a quarter of an hour.

Didn't envy him the conversation he was about to have with the bride's mother.

He came out a few moments later, no sign of the purple-haired girl. She must be the one getting the lecture.

He was striking. Bronze curls, golden skin. He certainly caught my eye.

What of it, though? I'd never see him again.

I finished my smoke and reluctantly made my way into the church for the ceremony.

But I did see him again a few weeks later, at another wedding, this one for a friend from work. Same truck. Same purple-haired girl. Same bronze curls.

I got a closer look at him this time. This reception was outdoors, under gauzy white tents next to the church. The florists were busy dragging some of the bigger arrangements from the church over to the tent once the wedding itself was over and the wedding party was off taking photographs.

I parked myself against the side of the church, cigarette in hand, and watched them. He had to walk right by me three or four times, carrying large potted plants and then gigantic arrangements of bright flowers.

The third time I saw him was a little over a month ago at work. An after-hours reception to celebrate our newest acquisition and a meet and greet for the principals and staff. My office has a clear view of the elevator so I was able to watch him come and go for the hour or two before things got underway.

It seemed to be fate by then, bringing him into my life every few weeks, with his fascinating grin, mop of bronze curls, face and arms dotted with moles I could see even at a distance.

It wasn't hard to get the florist shop's information from the assistant who had planned the event.

It's not all that far from where I live but it's a long way from where Mother is. I used to always stop by the flower shop that's right near the cemetery, on my way to visit her.

I'd walked by this place a few times since I had found its location but I only convinced myself to actually step inside three weeks ago.

And there he was.

I still don't know his name. They don't seem to believe in nametags at this shop. They do have a good selection of flowers though. I always find what I want for Mother, even though I go at the very end of the day.

I want it that way. I want to be the last customer, to not have other people around. In case I get the nerve up to actually speak to him.

But then he went and did it first, tried to make conversation, and I fucked it all up by being an arse.

I can't go back.

I want to go back.

 **Simon**

I can't believe it when he walks in on Friday, right on cue, at five minutes to close. I thought he wouldn't come back, thought I'd made a right bollocks of it by being such an absolute git the week before.

He does what he always does, walks in and strolls around without looking at me, so I let myself look at him.

He's got a suit on, perfectly tailored to him and snug in all the right places. His dark hair is falling in soft waves again. His profile is arresting, his shoulders broad, his posture perfect.

I don't know why I notice these things. Why I notice him.

I've been thinking about it, since last week. Thinking about him.

Longer than that, probably, if I'm going to be honest. Been thinking about him since the first time he came in.

I'm not sure why I'm so fascinated by him. I've thought about him a lot this week, when I was worried I'd never see him again.

It bothered me more than I expected.

Not in the 'losing a customer' way either. It's more than that.

I look forward to seeing him and I think . . . I think I'm attracted to him. I'm not sure what that's all about.

But his words from last week keep swirling through my head. I keep coming back to him saying he doesn't have a girlfriend.

Or a boyfriend.

That he was more surprised when I mentioned a girlfriend. I can't stop thinking about that. About what it might mean.

About why I'm so interested to know.

But I've got to get my apology out of the way first. I've got to apologize for being such an idiot and nattering on about flowers and girlfriends and such. When he was getting them for his deceased mother.

I really put my foot in it.

I'll try to make up for it. I'll try.

Who am I kidding? I'll likely muck it up again no matter what I do.

 **Baz**

I wasn't sure if I should come tonight. I wanted to, I knew that. But I was such an arse last week. I don't know what to say. I just tossed the money at him and stormed out. I don't know what he's thinking.

 **Simon**

I wish I knew what he was thinking. He's taking longer than he usually does. I feel like I should say something, apologize to him right now.

But I was such a plonker last week. I'm afraid I'll say something stupid again.

I always seem to say something stupid.

 **Baz**

I'm delaying. I just need to go up to the register and apologize to him. I close my eyes briefly and take a deep breath.

He's staring right at me when I turn towards him. His blue eyes meet mine and his face flushes. I can feel my own heat up.

I lift my chin and make my way to the register.

I can't decide if I should apologize first or tell him what flowers I want.

But he beats me to it.

 **Simon**

"They're on the house tonight." I see his eyes widen when I say that.

What made me say that? They aren't, exactly. He overpaid me last week, left without getting his change. And I decided just now, that whatever he orders, even if it's more than his change, I'll just cover it. As an apology.

"Excuse me?" He looks confused.

"The flowers. They're on the house tonight. I mean, technically, they're not actually on the house, because you overpaid last week. So, I suppose I mean they're paid in advance. That's more accurate. I mean, you left without getting your change last week, so I thought you'd just have a credit, so get whatever you like and we'll call it square." I'm babbling. I'm so useless at this.

But it doesn't stop me from talking. I'm such a fucking idiot that I keep on going. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about last week. I shouldn't have asked and I shouldn't have assumed."

 **Baz**

He's flushed and stammering and I can't take my eyes off him. He's actually apologizing to me, when he's got no reason. He was just trying to make conversation.

"No, really." I stop him. He's well into blustering by this point and I find I'm completely fascinated by the mole on his left cheek and the way his eyes are so blue, just a perfect shade of blue, and then my own face is heating again. "I was rude and I'm quite sorry."

"You still overpaid. So, you've got a credit tonight. Pick whatever you like."

"Thank you. . ." I pause and he gets the hint.

"I'm Simon." He puts his hand out. I take it. It's warm and calloused and I feel a searing sensation thrumming up my arm from his touch.

"Simon." I let my mouth linger on his name as I repeat it. His hand is still in mine and I force myself to grip it once and then let go as I speak again. "I'm Baz."

"What can I do for you tonight, Baz?"

There are so many ways to answer that question and none of them appropriate for the moment.

"I need a bouquet again." I tap my fingers on the counter as I think of what I want to say. "But I can't think what I want tonight. Why don't you surprise me this time?"

I can hear his intake of breath and his eyes impossibly widen further. "I can do that."

He takes his time, longer than when he makes up my requests. He goes back and forth, pulling flowers up and then putting them back.

He brings it up to the counter finally. It's a mix of white and pink lilies, white roses, a few sprays of pink hyacinths, blue forget-me-nots and to my surprise some blue irises and another bloom I don't recognize.

It's perfect.

"I hope this is all right," he says, holding it out for me to inspect. "If there's anything more or something you don't like, just tell me. I don't mind changing it."

"No, no. It's perfect as it is." I reach out a finger and gently touch the unfamiliar violet flower. "What's this?"

Simon tilts his head. "That's purple statice. It's got a colour close to violets but it works much better in a bouquet." His brow furrows as he looks up at me. I'm a few inches taller than he is. "If you don't like it I can switch it out."

I reach out to touch the flower again. "No. No. I like it. It's just the right colour."

"Then I'll get them all wrapped up for you."

Simon busies himself arranging and wrapping the flowers, leaving me the opportunity to look at him. His hands, freckled and covered with small scrapes and cuts, make quick work of it and then his eyes are meeting mine again.

"Here you go." He hands the bundle to me and our fingers touch again. "Thank you for coming back, after last time."

"I like your flower selection." Truly, I am an idiot. _That's the best you can do, Pitch?_

After weeks of making the trek to this particular flower shop, just to see this boy, I can't even make sensible conversation.

I do like the flowers here. But I think I like the boy behind the counter more.

I just can't tell him that without sounding like an absolute creeper.

The first time I came just to see him. I bought the flowers as an excuse for coming in the shop. And then I couldn't help returning.

I wasn't lying to him. I do buy flowers for Mother every week. I've done it for years. At first Father would take me to the florist shop near home and we'd go together. Once I was out on my own I'd just gone to the florist that's closest. It never mattered where I bought them before, as long as the flowers were fresh and lovely and would last the week.

It's always been more about spending time with her, thinking about her. It's a ritual that brings me a small modicum of comfort. That makes me feel close to her again, if only for a little while.

I know she's not there. I know she can't see me. I know it's more for me than for her. But tonight's the first time I've let anyone else choose what flowers to give her.

And somehow, I don't think she'd mind.

 **Simon**

I think he likes the flowers but I'm not sure. He's holding them but he's got this faraway look in his eyes, like his mind's not here. I'm sure he's thinking about his mother.

I tried to pick flowers that have meanings, that signify remembrance and respect, but not a funeral type arrangement. I wanted it to be brighter somehow. Not so much grief as memory, I suppose.

He shakes his head and looks at me again. "I'm sorry. I'm sure I've kept you past your closing time."

"It's all right. I've not got anything to do tonight."

"I'll be on my way then. Thank you again, Simon."

I like it when he says my name. There's a softness to it, in that posh accent of his. "Is it nearby?" I have no idea what possessed me to ask that. He's going to his mother's grave. It was going so much better and now I've gone and mucked it up again.

"I'm headed to the station. I've got a bit of a ways to go. I don't live too far from here but we didn't when . . ."

I nod rapidly. "Yeah, yeah, of course. Don't know what made me ask. I'll let you go, then."

 **Baz**

I should just leave. I've gone and told him I don't live in this neighborhood and that mother's grave is on the other side of the city. He's going to wonder what the hell I'm doing here. It's going to be utterly mortifying. I truly won't be able to show my face here next week.

I'm not sure how we end up walking out together and I linger as he locks the storefront up. I'm weak, what can I say?

"You headed to the station?" I can hear my voice and it sounds desperate. Like I'm trying to prolong this conversation that should have ended many minutes ago.

"No, I just live down the street." Simon's eyes dart up to mine and then away to the street and then back to me. "Um. Uh. It's in the direction of the station. So, we're actually headed the same way, for a bit." He jams his hands in his pockets. "If that's ok, I mean, I'm going that way anyway, you don't have to walk with me, I won't be following you or anything weird like that."

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and then jams it back in his pocket.

"It will be nice to have the company," I say and he visibly relaxes. And shoots me a grin that nearly takes my breath away.

We walk in companionable silence down the street. Simon stops when we get to the tube station entrance.

"Have a good night, Baz."

"You too, Simon. And thank you for your help and for putting up with me being an arse last week."

He waves his hand at me. "Nah. You weren't an arse. I was a complete numpty for making assumptions. Thanks for coming back." Simon runs his hand through his curls and rocks back and forth before continuing. "I'll see you next week, then, maybe?"

Does he actually look eager? I might be imagining it but there's a definite glint of interest in my answer, I can see it in his eyes.

"Next week it is." His smile definitely grows brighter at my words.

 **Simon**

He's back the following week.

"Hello, Baz."

"Good evening, Simon."

He's standing in the middle of the shop, looking at me and I'm just staring back at him.

He usually just walks in and starts inspecting the inventory.

Baz isn't doing that tonight.

 **Baz**

I stand there and drink in the sight of him. He's sitting at the counter, chin resting on his hand and a smile overtakes his face as he meets my eyes. I'm riveted.

I'm pathetic.

"What can I get for you tonight?" Simon stands up, his full attention on me.

I clear my throat and scan the shop. "Would you make up a bouquet for me again, Simon? The one last week was lovely."

"I can do that. Same colors or something different this week?"

"Maybe something brighter."

Simon bustles about the shop, collecting flowers and I take the opportunity to watch him as he works.

His creation is even lovelier than last week. More pink blooms and some reds this time, lush and fragrant.

We end up walking out of the shop together again and I wait for him to lock up, like I did the previous week.

"All right if I walk to the station with you, if that's where you're headed, Baz? I'm going that way myself."

I was hoping he'd walk there with me again tonight.

I nod and he talks about his favorite shops along this street as we walk. There's a curry take-out place, a small bookshop, a pub a few blocks further down.

My feet drag as we get closer to the station. I like listening to him talk. But inevitably we reach the spot where I need to leave him.

"Here we are then." Simon stops, hands in his pockets and smiles up at me.

I don't say anything in response. Can't think of anything other than the fact that I don't want to leave.

We stare at each other for another moment, neither of us moving. I don't want to be the first to break eye contact. I don't think I could look away if I tried at this point.

He leans forward. "Uh. Um. I'm probably going to head to the pub to eat. Haven't done the shopping for the week and I'm not about to do it tonight. If uh, if um, not sure if you said you live close but if you're back in the neighbourhood later tonight, maybe you'd want to have a drink?" Simon looks startled as he says that, as if that wasn't quite what he was intending to say.

I answer before he changes his mind. "Yes, yes I'd like that. I'd like that very much." I blink at him for a moment. "Which pub are you talking about?"

"Thought you said you live around here?" His expression is puzzled now.

"Oh. Right. Well, not too far is what I said, actually." Two stops isn't far, really, not when you take into account how big London is, after all.

"You don't live around here, do you?"

 _Fuck_. "Not quite. I'm just two stops away. Not far at all really."

"You work around here then?"

 _Fuck._

No. Work is a change of line but he doesn't need to know that. "No, work is a bit further away."

"Then how'd you end up at our shop?" Simon definitely looks puzzled now. "It's not on your way or anything?"

"Ah." I'm wracking my brain for an excuse. I really hadn't thought this part through at all. I don't know what I'd thought, when I'd searched out the shop. I just knew I wanted to see him again. And once I saw him, I wanted to see him again. And again.

I think of the only plausible explanation I can confess to without embarrassing myself for all eternity. "I told you I liked your flowers. I recognized the name of the shop. You did some work for us, a while back, at the office. Thought I'd check it out for myself. Haven't been disappointed."

"Oh. Oh, all right then." His face clears and a grin splits his face. It's glorious.

I feel momentarily guilty for deceiving him but the true story is better suited to a different time. And place. And after I have a few drinks in me.

"You still haven't told me which pub."

His grin gets impossibly wider. "You mean it? You'd like to get a drink later, then?"

"I would."

"Would it be easier if we met near you? So you don't have to trek on back here?"

I shake my head. "No. I pass by here on my way back anyway. I'll just get off on the earlier stop." I look at my watch. It's half past six. "It might be a bit later. Say eight to eight-thirty? Is that too late?"

"No. I'll head home and shower and go 'round the pub around seven-thirty to eight."

I reach into my pocket and pull out my mobile. I unlock the screen and pass it to him. He doesn't take it, just gives me an odd look. "Put your number in. That way I can let you know if I'm running late. I can give you my number and if you change your mind you can just let me know."

Simon takes it and taps at the screen. He hands it back to me and then reaches in his pocket to pull out his own mobile. "Not that I'll be changing my mind but here, go ahead."

Our fingers touch when I take it from his hand and I feel that surge of electricity again. I punch in my number and hand it back. "Why don't you call me, make sure we've got it right."

My mobile lights up a moment later with the caller ID showing "Simon Snow" with a smiley face emoji next to it.

"I'll see you later then, Simon Snow." I start to make my way down the steps to the station but I'm stopped by his hand on my arm.

"I forgot to tell you which pub."

"Text me the name? Then I can get directions for when I come back."

I'm on the tube when my phone buzzes with the name of the pub and a series of emojis from Simon.

I tilt my head back and close my eyes.

I've finally got something interesting to talk about when I go visit Mother tonight.

* * *

 _Title from lyrics of New Order song The Village_


	2. Chapter 2

_Written for the wonderful fight-surrender as a birthday gift!_

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

 **Baz**

I stay at the cemetery until sunset.

This is the most peaceful part of my week. It's the time when I can let my head be clear of everything that weighs me down.

It makes me miss Mother fiercely but it's when I'm closest to her as well.

I can think things through, sitting here.

I wonder sometimes what she'd think of me now. What I've done with my life. I followed Father's path, not hers. It didn't hurt as much.

But sometimes I wonder.

I trace her name once more before I stand.

That calmness abandons me once I reach the station. Do I meet Simon for a pint? I desperately want to, but I'm anxious. I'm sure to make a mess of it if I go.

I'm sure to regret it if I don't.

I pull my mobile out of my pocket and check the pub information Simon texted me again. The Watford Arms. It's not far from the flower shop. I'm going to go by that station anyway.

I told him I'd meet him there. I can't go back to the shop if I stand him up tonight.

I don't want to stop seeing Simon Snow.

One pint. Surely, I can manage to get through one pint without making a complete ass of myself.

 **Simon**

I check the time again. It's not quite eight.

I've not heard from Baz. I wonder if he's actually going to show up. He said he would, but it's not like he owes it to me. We don't really even know each other. He was probably just being kind when I suggested meeting here. I mean, who goes to a pub with some bloke they barely know, right?

Well, I guess I do.

I down my pint and order another. I check the time and consider ordering something to eat but I don't. Baz said it might be eight-thirty before he gets back here. I'll wait a bit longer.

I probably should slow down on the pints. No good being pissed and stupid if he does show up.

It's a bit disconcerting how much I want him to walk through that door.

As if my thoughts have conjured him, I see Baz push his way into the pub and hesitate by the entrance.

"Baz!" I call out and then flush as his eyes dart in my direction. So much for being subtle.

He makes his way over to my table and drops down across from me. I'm grinning like an idiot. I can tell by how tight my cheeks feel. I don't care. I wasn't sure he'd come, but he did. That's reason enough to smile.

"Sorry, I'm late. I hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Not long at all," I lie. "Grab you a pint, shall I?"

He shakes his head. "Let me." He's up and off to the bar before I can object. I watch him walk away.

I like the look of him in those jeans.

 **Baz**

The food's not bad here. We're on our third round of pints and Simon's flushed face is endearing. I've heard all about his best friend, Penny. And her boyfriend Michael? Micah? I'm not sure. All I know is he's American and she's daft for him.

Simon and Penny share a flat it seems, just a short walk from here. I rest my chin on my hand and just listen. I could watch him all night.

Reluctantly I check the time. It's almost ten. I should probably get home.

"Sorry, I've been talking you ear off, haven't I, Baz?" Simon's brows come together as he frowns at me. "I've not let you get a word in."

"I don't mind. I liked hearing about you."

"I've gone on and on." He waves his empty pint glass at me. "I've been known to get a bit chatty when I've had a few."

I laugh. "Not to worry, Simon. I tend to do the opposite, so that's fine."

"Opposites attract," he says and then turns completely scarlet. "Not what I meant, sorry. Just . . . uh . . . you know. . . uh. . . " He flounders, face growing darker red as he does.

I rescue him from his misery. "I understand what you meant. Imagine if we both got quiet or tried to talk over each other. It's much better this way. I like listening to you talk."

Fuck. Now _I'm_ blushing. What the hell made me blurt that out? I narrow my eyes at the empty glasses in front of me. I don't intend to drink this much next time.

Next time. As if there's going to be a next time. Who am I kidding? I've been unbearably dull tonight. There's no way Simon will want a repeat of this.

We walk out of the pub together and Simon insists on accompanying me to the station. "You said you're not from these parts. I just want to make sure you get to the station all right."

We walk in a somewhat awkward silence. I pause at the entrance to the tube station. "Thanks, Simon. It was nice to get out for a bit tonight."

He shoves his hands in his pockets and bites his lip. "I'll see you next Friday then, Baz? Same as usual?" His eyes meet mine and there's an earnestness to his expression that makes me catch my breath.

"Yes." The word is out of my mouth before I even pause to think. "Yes, I'll see you next Friday, Simon."

His grin lights up his face. "Alright then. See you next week."

He turns and I can't help but watch him walk away before I head into the station.

Next week it is.

The next few weeks follow the same pattern. I head to the flower shop after work, make my way to the cemetery, then meet Simon at the pub after. Neither of us has more than a pint or two, after the first time.

It's the highlight of my week. I look forward to Friday nights. Dev and Niall try to get me to go clubbing with them once or twice but I turn them down. I'd rather spend these few hours with Simon.

Our conversations are far more lively now. I tell him about my siblings and the vagaries of work. He makes me laugh with tales of flower shop mishaps and vicious brides-to-be.

Each week that goes by I come to dread closing time more and more.

This is the fourth week in a row that we've met up and as eleven o'clock approaches I find myself growing more frustrated. I wish I could think of some way to prolong this time with Simon. I wrack my brain as I listen to him regale me with his latest wedding debacle.

I'm a complete blank. I can't think of a bloody thing, other than going to a club, which is awkward.

It's not like this is a date.

I'm kicking myself for not thinking this through earlier. I could have done some research on the train back here. Could have had some idea to suggest.

We're back at the station a short while later, the same routine that we go through every time. We linger longer here each week, drawing the time out.

Simon's a bit more agitated tonight, rocking back and forth on his heels and running his hands through his hair. He looks delectable with his curls all askew. I shake my head. I need to stop letting my mind drift like that.

"Well, thank you, Simon." I may as well bring this to a close, seeing as I've come up dry as far as ideas.

"Ah. Yeah. Thanks, Baz." His hand does one more run through his hair. I want to reach out and push that curl off his forehead. I clench my fist in my pocket instead. "Uh, Baz. . . . ah I was wondering. Do you like milkshakes?"

I blink at him. "Pardon?"

"Milkshakes. Do you like milkshakes?"

I nod my head. "I do . . . " I'm not sure where's he going with this. Maybe he wants to meet somewhere else next time?

Simon's hand is tapping against his thigh, but he looks up at me with a grin. "Great. Great. So. So, ah, have you ever been to a place called TInseltown?"

"No, I've not heard of it."

"Good. Great. I mean . . . how about it, yeah?"

I blink at him again. "How about what?"

He shakes his head and a laugh escapes him. "I'm making a right mess of this," he mutters then continues. "TInseltown's this milkshake bar. In Farringdon. Want to check it out?"

"For next week, you mean? Sounds fine to me."

His color rises even more as he answers, a questioning lilt to his words. "No, I meant now?"

I glance at my watch. It's just past eleven. "Surely it won't be open this time of night?"

Simon shakes his head. "They stay open late night."

"You're sure?"

He chews on his lip. "I checked their website when you went to the loo."

A rush of warmth spreads through my chest at his words. He's as reluctant for this night to end as I am it seems, if he's checking into late night eateries.

"Sounds like a splendid idea. Milkshakes it is."

The place is packed, but somehow we manage to score a table after a short wait that we spend perusing the menu and debating the merits of the milkshakes listed.

I've a terrible sweet tooth. Every milkshake on this list sounds divine to me but I finally settle on the banoffee one while Simon chooses the Oreo.

I've almost finished mine before Simon is even halfway done with his. He nods at my glass from across the table. "Bit of a sweet tooth, yeah?"

"One of my many vices."

"Hmm. Not much of a vice, in my opinion. Surely you can do better than that?" He gives me cheeky grin and takes a sip of his milkshake, eyes on me as he does.

What is this? Is this banter? Or flirting? I think it's flirting but I'm not sure I can trust that impression.

I want it to be flirting far too much.

Only one way to find out, I suppose.

I flash him a cheeky grin of my own. "Guess you'll have to find out for yourself."

"I think I'd like that."

My stomach does a flip. Definitely flirting. My heart starts to race.

I don't know what to do with that insight. My mouth is dry and my words have deserted me.

We leave Tinseltown and stroll back to the nearest tube station, side by side, so close our shoulders brush occasionally. I can feel the heat radiating from him.

This is where our paths separate. He'll take the one going towards his flat and I'll take the one going in my direction. We linger in the corridor, neither of us making a move to follow the diverging tunnels to our trains.

"So." I could curse myself for my ineptitude. I'm a brilliant conversationalist under normal circumstances. I'm a gormless git around Simon.

"That was fun. I'd go back there."

"Yes, yes. So would I."

Simon laughs. "Of course, you would. You polished off that milkshake in record time."

"I'm quite partial to banoffee."

"So it seems."

"So."

"So."

"Next Friday then?"

"Sounds good. I'll see you then."

"Goodnight, Simon."

"Goodnight, Baz." He tilts his head to the side, takes two steps back, lifts his hand in a wave and turns away.

I should turn away too, follow the tunnel to my train. But I can't. I can't stop staring at him as he walks away from me.

So, I see when he stops. I hear him say "Oh, fuck it" and then he turns back towards me.

I can't hide. I can't pretend I'm doing anything other than staring at him.

He doesn't seem to notice. Simon's in front of me and his expression is unexpectedly tender. I meet his eyes. "Yes?" My voice is hushed.

He squares his shoulders, then his hand reaches forward to slide around my neck, pulling me close. Simon's lips meet mine, the warmth of them making my knees go weak. My hands come up to rest on his hips and I can't help but pull him to me.

"This alright then?" Simon's breath ghosts over my lips as he whispers the words to me.

"More than alright," I murmur against his mouth, feeling the brush of his lips as I do, not even a breath separating us now.

I close my eyes and focus on the slide of his mouth on mine, the sensation of his hand in my hair, the shiver that runs through him as I run my hands up his back.

I can still feel the sensation of his lips on mine when I unlock the door of my flat. Next Friday can't come soon enough.


End file.
